


the shifting shapes of clouds

by lynne_monstr



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Developing Friendships, Discussions of magic, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:27:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27799207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynne_monstr/pseuds/lynne_monstr
Summary: Magnus and Lorenzo discuss magic and magical taboos over drinks.(Or, why Magnus' magic has multiple colors)
Relationships: Magnus Bane & Lorenzo Rey
Comments: 11
Kudos: 34





	the shifting shapes of clouds

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written on Tumblr for Writers Month 2020. Day 3: Magic
> 
> Title taken from an Anne Whitehouse poem, "Cloud Studies"

Lorenzo’s voice is slightly slurred when he leans over, elbows on his knees, and asks, “How do you do it?”

And fine, Magnus isn’t exactly sober himself but even sober Magnus wouldn’t be able to make sense of Lorenzo’s ravings. “Do what? I’ve done a lot of fantastic things in my life. Pick one.” He leans back, toasting to empty air. Satisfaction coils deep in his gut as a muscle in Lorenzo’s face spasms.

“Your magic. The blue and the red. I’ve never seen a warlock whose magic is more than one color.”

Suddenly, being tipsy isn’t nearly enough; Magnus needs to be drunk for this. He keeps his smile frozen in place with an effort of will. “Perhaps I naturally go both ways. Some of us have more fun than others, Lorenzo.”

Lorenzo’s answering scoff threatens to spill his drink onto the plush carpet of the sitting room. The opulent style isn’t to Magnus’ taste but it suits his former rival. Imposing and arrogant at first glance, but surprisingly comfortable after prolonged contact. Or perhaps it’s like a garbage dump where you eventually get used to the smell. He’s not sure yet but at least Lorenzo’s liquor is the good stuff, so he’s willing to be magnanimous and reserve judgment until he sobers up.

“Spare me your sexual exploits, Bane. I’d like to have some semblance of an appetite when I meet Andrew for dinner later.”

“Oh, _Andrew_ is it? I didn’t know dear Underhill had a first name.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

Magnus taps a finger on his chin. “What was it you once said to me? Something about the disgrace of dating a Shadowhunter? If I was a lesser man I might have a few choice words for you.”

Lorenzo raises an eyebrow but irritatingly enough, doesn’t take the bait. “You’re avoiding the question,” he muses as he takes a considering sip of his drink. When he puts the glass back onto its coaster with a soft clink, Magnus still hasn’t said a word. With a sigh, Lorenzo shakes his head. “Very well, keep your secrets.”

“I don’t owe you an answer.”

Lorenzo inclines his head. “True, but…” The words trail off. For the first time, Lorenzo looks uncomfortable. He puts up his hands in a gesture of surrender and it’s so unlike him Magnus almost drops his own drink onto his lap, and wouldn’t that be embarrassing.

“My apologies. The question was a mere curiosity. You don’t have to answer if you prefer otherwise.”

Funny to think that just a few short months ago Lorenzo was bursting into his home and throwing accusations of corrupting ley lines into his face. Never in all his years did Magnus think they’d get to the point of a civil conversation, let alone whatever this is.

They aren’t friends.

Not with all their bad blood. The taunts, the threats, the attacks against each other still cast too large a shadow for anything more than sporadic camaraderie and the exchange of ideas about potential threats to the city. Lorenzo still occasionally keeps a hand free in his presence, as if Magnus is going to summon his father into this plane of existence at any moment. He may think he’s being subtle, and perhaps he is to most warlocks. But to a warlock trained in combat magic, his readiness is obvious.

Magnus himself has mostly forgiven Lorenzo for blacklisting him in the wake of losing his magic. Mostly. His forgiveness waxes and wanes depending on his mood but he’s in a fine state tonight and despite Lorenzo’s very personal question about his magic, this get-together has been one of their better evenings.

He rises from the settee, pretending to study one of the hideous portraits of Lorenzo that line the walls. He doesn’t owe Lorenzo an answer but the whiskey always makes him melancholy, more inclined to discuss things that should remain undiscussed. And the fact still remains that Lorenzo walked into the demonic equivalent of hell for Magnus. For Alec. For both of them.

Perhaps in a few centuries, they’ll have a shot at real friendship.

Tomorrow, Magnus will blame the liquor for his loose tongue. It’s an easier, more comfortable lie than admitting he perhaps misses the company of other warlocks. Ragnor is gone. Elias, too. Dot is on the run. Catarina is wonderful but even she can’t singlehandedly be everything to Magnus on her own. He longs for the days of old.

He keeps his back to Lorenzo as he explains. “I put emotion in my spells. That’s why the color changes.”

Lorenzo’s gasp is poorly hidden and Magnus amuses himself in the growing silence by imagining the scandalized look that must be scrawled across Lorenzo’s face. He keeps his back turned and his magic ready. It’s both a test and a challenge.

Surprisingly enough, Lorenzo passes on both counts. “It’s probably for the best that I did not know that about you when I first came to New York.” Try as he might, Lorenzo can’t entirely hide the shake in his voice.

Magnus swirls his drink around in his glass and finally turns to face him. And winks, for good measure. “As if you could’ve hated me any more than you already did.”

“That kind of casting is dangerous! It’s—” Lorenzo cuts himself off, slumping back in his seat. “You don’t need me to tell you that, I’m aware.” It’s not acceptance but it’s not the outright denunciation Magnus had expected, either.

Perhaps one day he’ll tell Lorenzo the full story. About how he didn’t know how dangerous the technique was when he began using magic, at first because he had no one to teach him and later because the teacher he _did_ have was his father. His father, who took him in when he was only a child and taught him what it meant to be a warlock. Asmodeus had encouraged Magnus to throw his feelings into the fire of his magic. He’d encouraged the rage and the disappointment and the bitter grief over being rejected by the only family he ever knew.

It was only when Magnus turned his back on his father and struck his own path that he realized the teachings of his childhood were not how others practiced. They used words and techniques and drawing upon their innate power. Magnus used that too, and then lit a match to the gasoline of his magic by pouring his emotions over the mass of power in his hands. Calming blue and livid red.

He’s tried to change but the technique is ingrained into his very bones.

Luckily, his type of casting is so rare that no one has ever guessed the true meaning behind the changing colors of his magic. Like Lorenzo, they assume it’s some lost art rather than one of their greatest taboos.

The fact that Lorenzo isn’t immediately threatening to expose him to the council means he might one day earn the right to hear the full story. Or maybe it means he’s too drunk to care. Either way, Magnus counts it as a win. He has a couple centuries, by his estimate, to figure out the rest. The old days are gone, but as Magnus settles back into his chair he allows that perhaps these tumultuous new days have their merits.

In the meantime, he shrugs a shoulder and throws back the rest of his drink. “Yes, I’m aware,” he says, once the burn in his throat subsides.

Lorenzo pours him another and that’s the end of it.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come chat at me! I'm on [tumblr](https://lynne-monstr.tumblr.com) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/LynneMonstr)


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